Things That Come to Pass
by GDAE24
Summary: Just a little song drabble. Sherlock and John get into a fight and Sherlock, who reflects on his parents relationship, leaves. Just the progress of how he makes his way back. Each chapter has a different song that I tried to incorporate the feeling and some lyrics into. Hope you all enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer****: I OWN NOTHING, I SWEAR!**

** Okay, so new story up now, yay! I hope everyone enjoys. Thank you all for following, favoriting, and liking my stories. All kudos and comments are appreciated, mostly comments because I love hearing everyones' lovely opinions. Just so you guys know, when I release these stories they are already completed, so I can't make any changes or anything like that, but if there are any questions, feel free to ask and I will always reply.**

** I'm done rambling now, I'm not even sure if anyone actaully reads these - I don't when I read stories (Sorry) - but I'm done. Enjoy! :D **

_**Chapter 1**_

_"Cold" - Five Finger Death Punch_

Sherlock couldn't remember how the fight started, he couldn't really remember much of the actual fight, but he remembered a few parts, the ones that hurt the most. He knew he'd said some harsh things as well, things that probably hurt John just as much as some of his words had hurt him. He didn't mean them, though, would never truly mean them, it was just, he was frustrated, and hurt and he wanted to hurt John back.

It was their first fight as well. Well, not their first fight, but their first fight as a couple, one that was bitter, harsh, like an actual war. Their personalities, when both angry, refused to let the other have the last word, needing to give far more pain than was received. It wasn't a fair fight, they played dirty, they'd said horrible things to one another, things that had made Sherlock break into tears when John had left the rooms. Things that made John slam his bedroom door, the room they didn't use anymore, so hard it shook the flat.

It had been raining outside, it still was, and it was growing dark as night descended upon the city of London. Listening hard, Sherlock could hear traffic moving, people talking and laughing outside despite the utter pain and sadness inside the flat right now. Anger might still bubble on the surface, but most had left him when he heard John walking up the stairs to his room, the one that meant he wanted away from Sherlock.

Sitting in the kitchen, Sherlock stared blankly at his lap, pieces of the argument floating around him, flinching as their voices echoed in his head. His own harsh voice piercing John in places he should never have touched, should never have even wanted to touch. It hurt him, the way he let his own anger rule him, allowed himself to hurt John, to want to hurt John.

"How dare you?! If this is how you resolve fighting, then I now know why your sister reverted herself to alcoholism. You drove her to it!"

That had been one of the things he said, he remembered that clearly, the pain and rage that flashed across his lovers face that he wasn't used to being directed at him. Granted, he would have never said it had John not provoked him.

"They're right, the lot of them! You're a Freak! How do I even put up with you?"

Those words brought tears back to Sherlock's eyes. No, the fight had not been pretty, not for either side, each digging their dagger farther and farther into each other's backs, neither relenting until John couldn't take it anymore. He'd thrown a petre dish, one that had an ongoing experiment in it, and marched upstairs.

It didn't get physical, John wasn't capable of harming Sherlock like that, and Sherlock would never do that to John in return. That didn't they weren't wounded, both like dogs, liking their cuts in silence, refusing to allow the other to see their pain.

Sherlock shivered, the flat suddenly seeming colder than before, less welcoming as his now useless experiment dripped from the wall. He held himself tighter, not bothering to wipe the tears from his eyes as he moved to clean it up.

Silence, that's all that filled the flat, all that ran through the air, harsher than the yelling and screeching of tired voices. Not a sound broke it, not even a creek of the floor boards above. He was tempted to make some noise, to provide some comfort to himself, but he didn't want to hear his own noise, he wanted John, John and his warmth. Neither were willing to take the blame yet, to change their words.

He was half tempted to go up there, Sherlock was tempted to beg for forgiveness, to apologize, but he had to wonder what would be left to gain. The moment he heard that door slam shut, he heard their relationship end, an unspoken break-up. He couldn't fathom how they could come back from this as friends, much less lovers.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to regain control, to push his feelings away, he didn't want to feel the pain, couldn't handle it right now. He just wanted to forget what happened, to delete it and go back to how things were, to the easy love they'd had before the stupid argument. Before they broke each other's hearts.

Sighing, he sat down again, burying his face in his hands as he tried to get himself to think, to revert back to how he was. How he was before he'd met John, before they'd become friends, before he opened up, before they became more than friends, before he finally allowed himself to fall in love. He was just having trouble getting there, trying to gulp down feeling that continued to surge through his mind, making him swallow strangely, holding back sobs. It seemed now that he'd seen it, he couldn't just leave it, couldn't go back to be alone, to being without John.

He wouldn't be able to forget John even if he tried. The flat lived and breathed John, each nook and cranny containing some reverence of his voice, his face, his love. The flat was now as much John as it was him, even their-his room had John everywhere. It was inescapable.

John was lucky, he could go to his room, the only completely free Sherlock place in the flat, the only place that didn't contain any memories of them together. It was his paradise where he could forget about Sherlock, about their relationship and the complications it brought. The complications Sherlock made.

What else could he do? His mind was coming up with blanks as he tried to think of how to move forward, how to turn the page and get past this point. Lips trembling, he wanted to scream, to yell and cry loudly as his mind came up with nothing, not functioning without John, without his blogger. No, he had to move on, to get away, to figure everything out.

Getting up, he ran to the door, grabbing his coat and scarf and yanking it on violently as he pulled the door open. He jogged down the stairs, trying not to wonder if John would stop him, if John would even care anymore.

The door closed ominously behind him, the thud echoing louder in the now empty streets as cold attached him from every side, feeling like thorns and splinters. His blood ran like venom through his veins, trying to keep his body warm as he moved away from 221B, slipping on the ice slicked stairs.

Looking back, he had to wonder when he would next see the place, and if he did, how different it would be.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, BBC controls the real characters, setting, and plot as well as anything else involved in production and other stuff.**

**Hey, long time no see - to anyone who actually reads this or is reading the story. I hope the few people reading this are enjoying it so far and I loved writing this story, although it was a little tough for me. Anyway, read and enjoy!**

_**Chapter 2**_

_"Say Something" - A Great Big World_

Rain flew around him in a small flurry, the streets now empty of life, quite flooding the streets with the water. It was the most soundless and depressing he'd ever seen London as not even a taxi roamed the streets. The only sounds were small speckles of rain landing softly on the ground.

He had his hand wrapped around his phone, but it didn't ring. No John asking him to come back, just silence. He just needed John to give him a sign, to say something, anything that would give him a sign, would give him hope that they could fix this. Just, silence.

Sherlock didn't know what to do, he was lost, uncertain. The only examples he had were his parents, and their story wasn't a happy one. It was one he didn't wish to repeat, especially with John, but maybe they were a truthful representation of the real world, of how love really worked.

They never spoke, the silence tonight was far worse than those that used to expand through his house, but not unsimilar. His parents fought, a lot. Their problems were not ones that they resolved, choosing to go to separate bedrooms to sleep. He'd felt small then, but much smaller now, feeling as if this were him and John.

He had thought they would follow each other anywhere, would be able to prove his parents wrong, but he knew nothing. Love was a subject he had never understood, with John he felt like he was just learning to love, learning be able to trust again, but his parents proved accurate.

Watching silently, he had seen their marriage fall apart, had seen the fights and watched the silence that the dins had brought. His mother would leave the room in tears, his father grabbing a bottle of scotch and drowning himself in it.

As far as he was concerned, love didn't exist. If it did then those fights wouldn't have mattered, they would have made up, would have spoken up, said something, anything!

He continued to walk, waiting for a sign, for some signal that he was wrong, that him and John were different. He got none, his phone still remaining silent.

Sherlock tripped, stumbling on a crack and falling onto the pavement, catching himself with his hands. Looking up, he saw that he stood outside of a closed "Angelo's." Their first case, first day, first meeting. He must have unconsciously walked here, following John without knowing it, without truly understanding what he was doing.

Memories of laughter, of smiled, of misconstrued ideas went through his mind. The way John smiled, how he talked, how he was the first to accept Sherlock for all he was, thinking he was glorious instead of a freak.

But John did think he was a freak, he'd said so. The words that haunted Sherlock's mind more than any others. He trusted John, never thought he would say that to Sherlock, would know how much it truly hurt to have those words uttered to him by the Yarders, even worse to have them coming from John.

The street lamps flickered as he walked past them, adding to the gloomy darkness that shrouded the city streets. The moon and the stars were hidden behind a canopy of clouds, providing little light as Sherlock continued to walk forward.

Ah, now he remembered what it had been about. John wanted him to clean up his experiments in the kitchen.

He had come home angry, something to do with Sarah. She was still angry at John for choosing Sherlock over her, including the times when the two were just friends. Sherlock had been in the middle of his experiment when John came in, hadn't paid attention, observed John like he should have. If he had he wouldn't have been as tactless in their conversations leading up to the fight, if he had paid more attention, maybe it wouldn't have happened at all.

Their entire relationship, he had made sure not to fight, to avoid it as best he could because he knew where fights led and he couldn't be without John. So he deflected and avoided any subject that could possibly lead to a fight. Paid attention to every one of John's moods carefully so he never made the wrong move, acted correctly around him.

Wind blew harshly against him, making him shiver and wish for John's warm body that usually protected him from such things. He missed John, he missed him so much as he heard the door slam over and over again in his head, echoing around his empty mind. and for once, it really was empty.

His mind had only ever gotten like this after John had made love to him, after he had been filled with John and only John, the made overriding any and all of his senses. But John was doing that now as he continued to go over the fight, the slamming door in his head, feeling pulsing through his body like his blood. Emptiness caused by John, only going to be fixed by John.

He loved John so much, it had only ever been John, no one else. Not any other person had ever or could ever elicit the feeling that John gave him, that the man filled him with.

As time passed, as he walked farther down the streets, the silence of his phone, John's silence, made it seem as if this was their good bye. This was where they ended, even if it was never discussed. Everything seemed so final at the moment, and Sherlock had no clue what to do. He had always been naive when it came to these matters and he always depended on John to guide him, but the only person who could help him think, could help him figure out this was the one who wasn't talking to him.

Sherlock had never felt so small in his life, had never known less about a subject. He thought he'd finally started learning what love was, what it was with John at least. Was he wrong? Were his parents right in their ways? Did love exist?

He had thought it had, was sure of it every time he saw John smile, every time they curled up together, every time he fell asleep to John's heartbeat, every time they kissed and made love and were just together. His heart raced, it skipped beats. His eyes softened, showed their vulnerability. He finally trusted, opened his heart, and he thought that was love

Did love exist, but always end like this? With pain and heart break and continual questioning?

The night remained quiet, and Sherlock was slowly giving up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:**** I own nothing, everything belongs to BBC.**

**Okay, sorry this is late, busy busy busy, but thank you to everyone who is reading this and enjoying it. Everytime I get yadas on this story it makes me super happy, so happy that you guys probably don't understand. Thanks for reading, and enjoy!**

_**Chapter 3**_

_"You Are The Only Exception" - Paramore_

As he continued to walk, he realized the sky was slowly growing brighter, the sun forcing itself into a rare, cloudless day. Orange streaks ran across the pavement, racing towards Sherlock, their laughter silent, but warm. The outlines and shops and trees were slowly coming into vision as morning came, the sky changing from a cold black to a warm orange/red color.

Looking around, he noted small shops beginning to open, their owners yawning as they unlocked the doors and switched the small signs from "closed" to "open." A few people came out, walking along the early morning streets, laughter and smiles fresh on their faces as they realized the storm seemed to have washed away the clouds for a day, or morning. The cold, as well, seemed to have been chased away, cool morning air washing away the previously freezing weather.

Sherlock's shoes clacked on the pavement, heading into the promising day, still lost deep in thought. Moving swiftly, he got himself closer and closer to the small park that John loved to take him to. Looking up, he realized where he was, memories flooding through his head as he took in the scenery.

The grass was short and green, swaying slightly in the small breeze that rustled through the air. A small lake lay on the other side, ducks swimming, indicating the end of winter, their small duckling peeping and diving under the water excitedly. Weeds near the edge hid their nests, providing warmth and protection from the cool air when needed. A few willows hung around the park, their shady branches tickling passerbys, inviting them to sit underneath. One stone bridge led a cross the lake, where a person could stop and look at the clear bottom of the lake.

"Come on Sherlock!" a voice echoed in his mind, "Don't be so stuck up. Come sit under the willow, I brought pick nick stuff. Join me."

A whimper escaped his lips as a smile graced them. He remembered that so well, everything they did. John loved to take him here, always the romantic. They wouldn't get to do this anymore, would they? It was over, between them, over.

He watched as his parents fell apart, from fight after fight, watched their marriage shatter itself into pieces like glass. He remembered watching his dad cry, his heart broken, never able to reassemble it. How could love exist if it never brought happiness to the people who claimed to feel it?

But, but with John, it felt as if he could love, could be with him and be happy, have some fairy tale happy ending. Love didn't last though, he didn't think so, not really. John had always been the only exception for any and all of his rules though, hadn't he?

Sherlock shook his head, looking towards the bridge, slowly climbing it like the sun slowly climbed higher into the sky.

"Look!" John exclaimed, "You can tell it's spring time because the little baby ducklings swimming around. Come on, Love, you know they are cute. Look how fuzzy they are, and they have such cute little peeps!"

Sherlock laughed, feeling John's arms wrap around him, head resting on his shoulder, turning to kiss his cheek.

He stopped in the same spot that they had stood, looking down at the small creatures peeping and diving wildly underneath him. Covering his face again, he let out small cried, tears collecting into his hands.

He had spent his whole life trying to find ways to make it alone and keep a straight face, and he thought he'd succeeded. Always kept himself distant from everyone, protecting himself from the hurt they threw at him every day. He swore that he was okay with being lonely, that it was better than ever having anyone, or going through what his parents had.

John had broken through his walls, though, had wormed himself into his heart and shown him that he was not happy without that, without John. He had always been the only exception, the only one who could see Sherlock for everything he was. With John, he had begun to believe, again, that maybe it could exist, could work with them.

Wiping his eyes, he stood, turning and leaving the park, leaving the memories behind. He made his way back onto the pavement, looking back once, before moving in the opposite direction, more people now being out. A few looked at him funny, probably because of his red rimmed eyes, but he ignored them, holding his head high, hands in his pockets.

"Come now, let's eat." he heard again, turning to see the windows of Angelo's Restaurant.

"Not hungry." he'd said.

"That's a lie if I ever heard one. I swear, like three times I heard your stomach growl while we walked here. You just finished a case; you haven't eaten or slept in days, now eat."

Sherlock had sighed, attacking John's food with his fork.

"Hey!" he'd cried, "_Your_ food, yours!"

"I don't want my food." he'd said through the spaghetti that filled his mouth.

"Fine," he'd sighed, switching their plates and digging into Sherlock's chicken. He swallowed with a groan. Sherlock instantly stole that as well, taking a few bites. "Okay, look, I would at least like to eat something."

"Thought you wanted me to eat."

"Yes, but that picture included your own food and me eating as well."

"We can share."

"Oh yes, like couples do?"

"We are a couple."

John blushed instantly, "You don't mean it like that." and he stole his food back, handing Sherlock the chicken.

Sherlock had meant it like that though. He may not have known it at the time, but he had meant it.

Shaking his head again, he moved passed the restaurant, wondering when exactly he had fallen for John. Had he fallen for him first, or had John fallen for him? When did he realize that he was in love with the soldier? When did John become the only exception for him? He couldn't, he just couldn't let go of John, he didn't know how.

Continuing on, he rubbed his eyes again, keeping more tears at bay, wondering when he'd run out. It was a silly question, scientifically he knew he could never technically run out of tears, but it felt like that. He couldn't do anything for himself, he couldn't just leave it, allow it to finally be over, be alone again, but what about the fight? John wouldn't want to be with him still, fights led to break ups, and he knew that.

Glancing up, he stopped, realizing he was standing right in front of 221B. He had no clue what to do, having made his way back far quicker than he had left. The lights were on, but it was silent.

Slowly, Sherlock walked up the steps, placing his hand on the knob and holding his breath. It turned, unlocked, and he let himself in, warmth flooding him. Sitting it quietly, he looked up, eyes automatically coming into contact with the man that had occupied all his thoughts.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:**** BBC owns everthing, not me.**

** Okay, last chapter! I hope everyone has enjoyed, and this one is definitely lighter than the other ones. Thanks so much for reading and leaving yadas! See everyone on Saturday with a brand new story! **

_**Chapter 4**_

_"Best I Ever Had" - Gavin DeGraw_

John instantly walked up to Sherlock, reaching his arms out and wrapping them around the younger man's waist, pulling him close. Automatically, Sherlock wrapped his arms around his neck, burying his head in the crook of John's shoulder. He allowed small sobs to leave his throat as he held to John tightly, waiting for something to happen.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." he heard John say, his voice sounding choked up. "I was so worried!" he said, pulling back and grasping Sherlock's chin in his rough, calloused hands. "You were gone, all night, I-I didn't know what to do, or what was going through your mind. I'm sorry."

"John." he choked out, feeling him swipe a tear from his cheek.

Said man suddenly brought Sherlock's face down, bringing him into a passionate kiss that made his head spin.

Pulling back, John pecked his way all over Sherlock's face, kissing away tears. Sherlock's hands were holding tightly onto John's shirt as if afraid to let go, just repeating his name, letting the words escape his lips softly, lovingly.

"I'm sorry, please forgive me." John whispered, bringing their foreheads together.

"I don't understand." Sherlock whispered.

"What, what don't you understand?"

"Aren't we-don't you want to break up?" he asked softly.

John's eyes widened, "Why would you think that? Do you?"

Sherlock shook his head, "N-no! But that's what happens, right? We fight and then we break up? If not, we'll just keep fighting and break up eventually."

"Sherlock, why would you think that?"

"That's what happened to my parents! That's what happens to everyone, right? This, us, love, it never lasts, you'll get sick of me!"

"Your parents..." John muttered under his breath, shaking his head, "Sherlock, I promise, with all of my being, and all of my heart, I will never stop loving you, I will never leave you. I don't think I could ever live without you. You put me back together and you made me feel as if life could go on, all in one day. I finally broke down your walls, finally get to see you in all your glory with emotions and sentiments and all the stuff you denied having the first night we met. I have you now, I don't plan on letting you go."

"John." he sighed, allowing himself to once again be pulled into a hug.

"You're mine, Sherlock, and I treasure you so much. I-I said horrible things last night."

"So did-" he began.

"But I started it, I knew you would be hurt, knew you would try and hurt me back. I went too far because I was angry, and I wasn't even mad at you, I just took it out on you. I-I did such a terrible thing, Sherlock, it should be you who doesn't want be with me anymore."

"But-but I love you." he whispered, "If-if love exists and if it lasts, then this is it, right? Because I have no other explanation. It hurts, John, to be without you. I thought-I thought you would leave me. I've been trying to avoid fights, but I failed."

"Oh, Love." John said, carding his fingers through Sherlock's hair, remembering all those times, making better sense of them now, "We are going to fight, it's natural, a given, but just because we fight sometimes, doesn't mean we'll break up. Together, we'll work through it, fix it, put each other back together."

"How do you know?"

"Because I love you, and you're the best I've ever had, and probably ever will have. I think we can beat anything, together."

"Really?"

"Really."

"We won't break up?"

"Never."

They stood there for a while, just holding each other in tight grips, basking in the others company. John led them upstairs after a while, laying them out on their bed, allowing Sherlock to curl up around him, head resting his chest. Feeling Sherlock's breath even out on his skin, he drifted off as well, neither having gotten any sleep last night.

Sherlock woke suddenly, feeling warm and sated, a hand once again carding through his hair. He mewled softly, snuggling closer for warmth and glancing outside. It was dark again, meaning that he and John had slept the day away.

"Hey." John said softly.

Sherlock nuzzled closer, not wanting to let this go, feeling relief and adoration wash over him as he remembered what happened. John promised he would be fine, they would be fine, together.

He felt John's chest move as he chuckled, moving his hand from Sherlock's hair to his face, thumb running over jutting cheek bones.

"Time?" he rumbled.

"Nine o'clock. Dinner?"

"Mmm, order in?"

"Chinese?"

Sherlock smiled, "Please."

"I think we're addicted to Chinese food." he muttered as he reached for the phone, the restaurants number memorized.

"I didn't used to like it."

"What?!" John asked, shocked, but turned back as they answered the phone, ordering their favorite. "It's a sure sign that you have too much take out when they know your voice and have your address memorized."

"Mmm." he hummed.

"Wait, so you never used to like Chinese?"

"I-no, not really."

"And you do now?"

"Ever since I met you I started to do things differently. I won't ever be the same from before we met."

"I'm assuming this includes more than just Chinese." John said, sitting up, pulling the smaller man with him.

"Yes, is that-is that bad?"

"Not at all. Doubt that I'm the same as I used to be, Love."

"True, now you're gay."

John let out a laugh, "Well, you aren't married to your work."

"I never claimed to be straight."

"You love having the last word, don't you?"

Sherlock just smiled, worming his way fully atop John, sitting on his lap, the room so much warmer than it had been yesterday. It was louder, too, words and love filling the dreadful silence.

"John?"

"Hm?"

"You are the best I've ever had too, and I forgive you. Do you forgive me?"

"Yes, of course I do. I love you."

"I love you too."

_**The End**_


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